


frozen devotion

by PaintedVanilla



Series: play the game [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety Disorder, Autistic Newton Pulsifer (Good Omens), Awkward Sexual Situations, Bubble Bath, Catholicism, Cats, Churches & Cathedrals, Discussions of sex, F/M, First Time, Honeymoon, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage, Nervousness, Panic Attacks, Post-Wedding, References to Past Child Abuse, Sex Shops, Short Road Trips, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Trans Anathema (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Weddings, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: freshly dissolved in some frozen devotionno more alone or myself could i belooks like a strain to the arms it were openno shortage of sordid, no protest from methere are twenty-four hours in the day. those twenty-four hours feel exceedingly long on march 20, 1993. but that might have something to do with the fact that crowley and aziraphale are getting married. there's much to be said and done.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Uriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Crowley & The Them (Good Omens), Raphael/Uriel (Good Omens)
Series: play the game [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563577
Comments: 35
Kudos: 167





	frozen devotion

**Author's Note:**

> i barely proofread this and then i had two tabs open on ao3 and i just loaded everything into the wrong tab so ;-; please just take this. it's late and classes start tomorrow and i still need to shower!! i am rushing. and tired. i hope you all like it <3
> 
> special thank you to jacques for the beta read on the last scene!! ily <3

Saturday, March 20, 1993

12:00 A.M.

* * *

“I mean I think News of the World is a good album, _all_ their albums are good, I just don’t think it’s their _best_ ,” Anathema says. “Well, okay, I mean— I guess their best album is a subjective thing. Like, there’s no test to determine what their _best_ album is. But A Night at the Opera is my favorite, personally, so in _my_ opinion, it’s their best work.”

She looks over her shoulder. Crowley is sitting on the edge of the couch staring straight ahead at the wall. His glass of wine is sitting, untouched, on the coffee table, just as it has been for the past half hour. She frowns, frustrated, turning around fully and stomping back over to the couch.

“Okay,” she says, and he looks up at her, startled. “I’ve tried gardening, snakes, James Bond, your car, Catholicism, and Queen. I cycled through literally all of your interests and you didn’t take the bait on any of them. What’s wrong?”

Crowley stares at her for a moment, then frowns. “Catholicism isn’t an _interest—_ ”

“That’s not my point, dumbass,” Anathema snaps. “That’s the most you’ve said since you _got here_. What’s _wrong_?”

Crowley doesn’t say anything; he goes back to staring at the wall. Anathema crosses her arms. “Is there something on my wall you find compelling, or…?”

Crowley shuts his eyes. “Anathema,” he says weakly, “I’m so wound up I feel like I’m about to snap in half. My stomach’s been cramped up since Thursday. I’m trying not to _cry_.”

Anathema softens immediately, uncrossing her arms and immediately descending to sit on the couch next to him. “What’s got you so twisted up?”

Crowley’s eyes snap open; he looks at her incredulously. “What the fuck do you _think_ has me so twisted up?!” he exclaims. “I’m getting _married_ tomorrow! I’m freaking out!”

“Anthony, there’s nothing to be freaking out about!” Anathema insists. “You’re getting married— what about that is there to freak out about?”

“Literally everything! Are you out of your mind?!” Crowley shoots up off the couch and weaves around the coffee table, beginning to pace frantically. “I’m wearing a white suit. What if I stain it? What if I stain it before the ceremony even starts and I have to go through the whole thing wearing a stained suit? What if I trip? I already know I’m gonna stutter while I’m at the alter, the question is how _much_ am I going to stutter? Probably an ungodly amount! Who knows if I’ll even be able to get my vows out! And that’s not even to mention how many things could go _wrong_ tomorrow—!”

“Anthony!” Anathema says loudly, grabbing his attention. “Nothing is going to go wrong tomorrow! You’re going to get married and you’re going to have a good time with Aziraphale! It’s not going to be perfect, but nothing is _ever_ perfect.”

“Some things are perfect,” Crowley argues.

“Name one thing that’s absolutely perfect,” Anathema insists.

“The Queen concert I went to in ’84 was perfect,” Crowley says matter-of-factly. “ _Dr. No_ , 1962, is a perfect movie. Jane Eyre is a perfect book.”

“Your wedding is not a work of fiction or a rock concert, Anthony,” Anathema says flatly. “And those things aren’t perfect, either.”

“Yes they are,” Crowley says quickly.

“Just,” Anathema says slowly, “come sit back down. Drink this glass of wine and then I’ll pour you another. Sooth your nerves.”

“I don’t wanna get drunk,” Crowley whines. “I don’t want to be hung over tomorrow. I’m gonna have to wake up and drive for an hour and then _get_ _married_ and— why would I want to be hungover on my wedding day?”

“I’m not saying you would,” Anathema retorts. “Just come drink this so it doesn’t go to waste, yes?” 

Crowley slinks back over to the couch and sits down rigidly, picking the wine glass up and taking a sip. Anathema leans back against the couch cushions. “You know, if it’s any consolation, you’re not gonna be stressed out at all this time tomorrow night. You’re gonna be on honeymoon in Seaford and honestly? This time tomorrow you’ll probably be getting shagged, so…”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Crowley says stiffly.

“Why wouldn’t getting shagged make you feel any better?” Anathema asks. “It feels great.”

“Well, I’ve never actually _been_ shagged, so I wouldn’t know!”

“Well you’re gonna know!”

“I’m nervous!” Crowley snaps, turning to look at her as a blush rises on his cheeks. “I wasn’t exactly taught how to do it! I’m not gonna know what I’m doing and I’m gonna feel stupid and I’m nervous!”

He looks away from her again; Anathema sighs, leaning her head against the couch cushion. “Anthony,” she says gently. “First of all, can you lean back and quit sitting like a wooden board?”

Crowley’s frown deepens, but he does as she asks. It doesn’t do much to help the tension.

“Look at me,” she says.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Neither of you have ever had sex before,” she says calmly. “I’m sure he’s just as nervous about it as you are. It’s not like he’s going to expect you to know everything.”

“He’s so nonchalant about it, though,” Crowley says quietly. “We were in a sex shop—”

“Why were you in a sex shop?” Anathema interrupts, raising her eyebrows.

Crowley frowns at her. “Maybe if you let me finish the story, you’d find out.”

“Alright, sorry,” she says. “Continue.”

Crowley looks away again. “… We were buying a strap-on.”

“Ah.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Crowley says, refusing to dwell on the subject, “I was fucking dying the whole time we were in there. I was blushing so hard I felt like my face was gonna catch on fire. And he was just like, _oh, what size do you think we should get?_ And I didn’t fucking know what to say! I was just following him around stammering for half an hour until he settled on something and we bought it and left!”

“Well, maybe he’s eager,” Anathema suggests.

“ _I’m_ eager!” Crowley insists. “I’m eager, but I’m also fucking nervous!”

“You’re always nervous,” she points out. “And even if he’s eager, he’s not gonna know exactly what to do. You’re gonna get there and start kissing and then you’re gonna have to keep stopping to talk about what to do next because that’s just how it works. You’re not gonna read each others minds— not the first time and not _ever._ Newt checks in pretty much every thirty seconds when we’re having sex. _Can I do this_ and _do you want me to do that_ and _how does that feel_ and _should I keep going._ It’s just something you have to discuss.”

Crowley hesitates. “Are you sure that’s not just a Newt thing?”

She shoves him. “Shut up. And even if it was, it’s healthy to do, anyway. I know in your stupid Bond movies they always just kiss and immediately fuck and there’s nothing to be discussed, but in real life there’s actually a lot of talking.”

Crowley crosses his legs at his ankles and takes a sip of his wine. “I’m scared it’s gonna be weird.”

“It is gonna be weird,” she assures him. “First times are always weird. I slept with Newt an hour after meeting him, do you honestly think it wasn’t weird?”

“Well, it must have been good, otherwise you wouldn’t have kept him.”

She laughs. “Point taken. It’s weird, but it’s also good. It’s a mix. You’re both gonna have fun. And afterwards I can absolutely guarantee you’re going to be more relaxed than you’ve ever been in your life.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “I know what an orgasm is. I’ve had one before.”

She places a hand on his shoulder. “Anthony?” she says, and he looks at her again. “I do not know how to impart this on you, because you’re not going to believe me until tomorrow night, but the orgasm you get when you jerk off is _not_ the same as the orgasm you get when you have sex with someone.”

Crowley swallows. “Not even if you use a vibrator?”

She grins at him. “I think you should finish your wine and do the dishes to calm yourself down.”

“Okay,” Crowley agrees immediately.

Anathema stands and stretches. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Be back in a minute.”

“Okay,” Crowley says again, staring into his wine glass. He waits until she’s left the room, then downs all of it in one go.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

12:49 A.M.

* * *

Uriel swirls her wine in her glass for several long moments before she takes a sip and breaks the silence. “I didn’t really think bachelor parties were this tame, if I’m being honest.”

Aziraphale hums. “I’ve never actually been to one. I didn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t have had one at all if Anathema hadn’t insisted.”

“It’s bad luck to see your betrothed in the hours leading up to the wedding,” Newt says from where he’s laying on the floor, playing with Rochester, the cat. “Or so Anathema says.”

“That is right,” Uriel nods. “Raphael and I did that. I think it’s quite romantic.”

“I’m sure Anthony and Anathema are doing the exact same thing as us,” Aziraphale says. “Drinking wine and… sitting.”

“I did the same thing at mine,” Uriel assures him. “I thought maybe that was just a girl thing, though. I don’t think Raphael was as tame.”

“What did he do?” Newt asks.

“Oh, he’s never told me,” Uriel laughs.

“Huh,” Newt says. He sits up and looks at Aziraphale. “Do you have a cat toy? Like a mouse on a string or something?”

“Up on the mantel,” Aziraphale says, pointing lazily. Newt stands to go grab it. Rochester watches him the entire time.

“I wonder where that tradition comes from,” Uriel says vaguely.

“Oh, it’s actually not very romantic,” Aziraphale says.

“You know why?” Uriel asks.

He nods. “Read about it. It comes from when arranged marriages were common. The groom wasn’t allowed to see the bride at all because people trying to marry off their daughters were worried if they thought they were ugly, they’d call the wedding off. That’s why brides traditionally wear a veil, as well, so the groom can’t see what she looks like until the last possible second.”

Uriel is quiet for a moment. “ _I_ wore a veil…”

“Yeah, but that was probably more for aesthetic purposes than to keep your husband from seeing your face,” Newt says suddenly, not looking up from where he’s bouncing the mouse on a string as Rochester paws at it.

Uriel looks back at Aziraphale. “I doubt Anthony would need a veil, anyhow.”

A small smile graces Aziraphale’s lips. “No, I doubt he would.”

“He really is quite the looker,” Uriel continues. “Seems like one of us got lucky.”

“I also got pretty lucky, I think,” Newt says bluntly, sitting back down on the floor to continue playing with Rochester. “Anathema’s, like, the prettiest woman I’ve ever met. Anthony’s good looking too, I guess, but I’m not into guys so I guess I wouldn’t know if he’s, like, hot or whatever.”

He glances at Uriel. “I’ve never met your husband so I dunno if you got lucky or not.”

Uriel blinks. “How old are you, Newton?”

“Twenty-eight,” Newt tells her. “And you can just call me Newt.”

Uriel nods. “Well, if you’d introduce me tomorrow, I’d very much like to meet your wife.”

“Oh, we’re not married,” Newt says. 

“Anathema doesn’t really believe in, er, marriage, if I recall correctly,” Aziraphale says tentatively.

“Yeah, not really,” Newt shrugs. “I’m gonna propose to her, anyway, though.”

“What?” Aziraphale asks, startled, sitting up. “Since when?”

“She’s been all starry eyed about it ever since she helped Anthony buy the ring,” Newt says simply. “So I’m gonna propose to her.”

“When?” Uriel asks excitedly.

“Not sure yet,” Newt says. “I promise not to do it at you’re wedding, though. I wouldn’t wanna steal your thunder.”

“Appreciate it,” Aziraphale nods.

“Will your stag night be any more exciting, Newt?” Uriel asks lightly; she glances at Aziraphale. “No offense.”

“Probably not,” Newt shrugs. “I’ll probably just, like, er… well, I dunno what I’ll do. Do you guys like D&D?”

“Anathema seems like the type to be a bit more inclined towards a wild night,” Aziraphale says.

“Oh, yeah,” Newt agrees. “She’ll probably rope Anthony into doing something with her. Could you imagine Anthony’s face if she took him to a strip club or something?”

“I can imagine his face very well, yes,” Aziraphale says with a sheepish smile.

Uriel tilts her head. “You said that with an awful lot of confidence,” she comments. “Been to any strip clubs, lately?”

“Ah, no,” Aziraphale says. “Not ever, I’m afraid. But, er… we were in a sex shop last week, so I imagine his demeanor would be similar.”

Uriel sits up, smiling widely. “Why were you in a _sex shop_?!”

“Er,” Aziraphale says awkwardly.

“I thought you were waiting for your wedding night!” she continues. “Impatient.”

“No, we are!” Aziraphale insists. “We were, er, buying it for the, er… honeymoon. It’s… still in the box.”

“Well, what is it?” she presses.

“Er,” Aziraphale says, dragging the sound out and averting his gaze. “I’m… not sure Anthony would be comfortable if I disclosed.”

“Oh, I see,” Uriel says with a smile. “Some sort of obscure kink, then? Anthony does have that look about him.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale says quickly. “It’s— it’s nothing like that—”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it, it’s _your_ honeymoon,” Uriel says coyly. “You can do what you want. Lord knows you’ve waited long enough to get to it. I can’t imagine waiting thirty-two years. I got married at twenty and I was certainly eager to get to it!”

She laughs, and then she very suddenly looks somber. She takes a sip of her wine.

“You look disappointed,” Newt says bluntly.

“What?” she asks, snapping out of it. “Oh, no. No, not at all.”

“You looked it, is all,” Newt tells her.

“No, I— why would I be disappointed?” she laughs.

Aziraphale makes a doubtful noise. Uriel snaps her attention to him. “What?”

“I— er— nn— nothing,” Aziraphale stammers. 

Uriel keeps her gaze fixed on him.

He breaks. “Well, it just— well, I may be wrong, but Raphael has never seemed like the most attentive man in the world. At least not from my point of view.”

“Oh,” Uriel says, sitting back. “Well… I suppose you’re not wrong. But that’s hardly disappointing.”

“How?” Newt asks. “Seems to me if he’s not attentive, he wouldn’t be very good at sex.”

“Newt…” Aziraphale says quietly.

“Er, sorry,” Newt says awkwardly. “Was that rude?”

“A bit,” Uriel bites out. “But… well, you’re really not far off. But I don’t want to start bad-mouthing him.”

“Why not? He’s bad at mouthing you,” Newt says, then laughs. Aziraphale bites his lip and looks down in an attempt to hide his snicker. 

“Very funny,” Uriel says, trying to force the glimmer of a smile off her face. “I will have you know that my shower-head at home is detachable which keeps me far from disappointed, thank you.”

Newt pauses. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

Uriel blushes hard, not expecting to have to explain herself. “I use it to… you know…”

Newt stares blankly at her.

“Like a vibrator,” she says quietly.

“Oh!” he says. “Why don’t you just use a vibrator, then?”

“Because the shower’s the only place I get left alone,” Uriel mutters. “And even that’s debatable. Besides, unlike this one,” she nods to Aziraphale, “I’ve never been to a sex shop.”

“I only went the once,” Aziraphale insists. “It’s not like I’m an expert.”

“My uncle runs a sex shop in Hounslow,” Newt says suddenly. “He tells everyone to call it a toy shop, but they’re all adult toys. Open ’til four in the morning.”

“Is it, er, nice?” Aziraphale asks.

“I’ve never actually been,” Newt says.

There’s a long lapse of silence. Then, Uriel says, “We should go.”

Aziraphale frowns. “What, now?”

“Sure!” Uriel exclaims, springing up. “Let’s go!”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Aziraphale points out.

“And Hounslow is ages away,” Newt adds.

“It’s, like, an hour,” Uriel argues. “Less, probably, since it’s the middle of the night! Come on, let’s go. It’ll be fun.”

“I really don’t have any business in a sex shop,” Aziraphale says meekly. 

“Oh, please.” Uriel rolls her eyes. “You’re going on your honeymoon tomorrow. Let’s go and you can get something to surprise Anthony with.”

“It could be fun,” Newt says, slightly giddy now. “It does sound rather exciting, actually. Going places late at night is always exciting.”

Aziraphale still doesn’t look swayed. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on!” Uriel exclaims. “At the very least, it’ll be good for a laugh. And a good story about your stag night ten years down the line.”

“Hmm…” Aziraphale says, drawing the sound out. “… Fine.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

1:33 A.M.

* * *

“What the hell are you doing?”

Crowley turns around to look at her. “I’m alphabetizing your bookshelf.”

She squints at him. “ _Why_?”

He hesitates. “It… calms me down?”

“Oh,” Anathema says. “Well. I would let you stress clean the whole flat, but it _is_ half past one in the morning, and you’re getting married tomorrow, and you to have a tendency to get cranky, so I’ll make the couch up for you.”

Crowley turns back to the bookshelf. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still thinking about messing up my vows and tripping on my way to the alter and staining my suit and sex.”

He turns to look at her again. “I literally think about sex constantly. All the time.”

“Okay, that’s called being horny,” Anathema says. “I think that’s to be expected of someone who’s thirty-two and still a virgin.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Crowley insists.

“Anthony, it’s exactly like that,” Anathema says knowingly. “I know you think you’re special because you’re queer and Catholic so you think this is drenched in ten layers of tenderness and repression or whatever, but you’re literally just horny. You’re thinking about sex constantly because you’re horny and you wanna get dicked down.”

“Please stop talking,” Crowley says.

“You know I’m right,” Anathema shrugs. “How’s this: I’ll run you a bath, and hopefully that will remove some of the tension from your shoulders, and then you’ll stop looking like a spring coiled so tight you’re going to crack in half.”

“Haha,” Crowley says dryly.

“I’m gonna run you a bath,” Anathema says again, turning away. “Please try not to be horny in my bath tub.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

2:29 A.M.

* * *

Newt’s uncle is mildly perturbed by his presence in his shop, but he doesn’t make him leave because he brought friends.

“I don’t think your mum would be very happy to know you were in here,” he tells him as they trickle into the aisles.

“Talking about your sex life with your mum is a little awkward,” Newt agrees. “But I am twenty-eight, so, you know.”

“You should get something as a surprise for Anthony,” Uriel insists.

“I think you’re just trying to get me to reveal what his obscure kink is,” Aziraphale says. Then he adds hastily: “Which he does not have.”

Uriel laughs. “Right. Sure.”

She disappears around the corner to walk down the next aisle, and Newt takes the opportunity to slide up next to Aziraphale. “What did you and Anthony buy?”

“I’m not telling you!” Aziraphale says, blushing hard. “He might get upset. You know how he is. Ask him.”

“Alright,” Newt shrugs. “Do you suppose I should get something for Anathema?”

“I— don’t know,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t know anything about… you two.”

“Yeah,” Newt says. He sighs. “I’ll walk around and think about it.”

Newt slips off to meander through the shop; before Aziraphale can do the same, Uriel reappears with an enormous smile on her face. “Come with me.”

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Aziraphale says, allowing himself to be dragged along. She pulls him around a corner and forces them to stop in front of a shelf that contains an assortment of restraints. Aziraphale blushes, clearing his throat. “What— what about it?”

“Thoughts?” Uriel asks, her eyes sparkling deviously. 

Aziraphale hesitates. He imagines Crowley tied up to their headboard, stark naked and begging to be fucked, and he very quickly has to yank the thought out of his brain. “Er…”

Uriel smiles smugly. “I’ll leave you here to peruse.”

She slips away from him again, leaving him alone in front of the display. Several more mental images of Crowley creep into his brain. All of them make him feel hot in the face, and also as though he should sit down and cross his legs, or perhaps take a cold shower.

Newt reappears at his side again after a few minutes. “Hi,” he says, eying up the display. “Are you buying something?”

“… Not sure…” Aziraphale says slowly.

Newt hums. He holds up a riding crop. “I’m getting this.”

Aziraphale glances at it, and can’t help but laugh. “Are you certain Anathema will let you use that on her?”

Newt stares at him. “I didn’t say I wanted to use it on her.” he says bluntly, before walking away.

Aziraphale blinks. He goes back to considering the display. After a few more moments, Uriel appears. “Have you decided to get something?”

“Hn,” Aziraphale says, tearing his eyes from the display. “No. Have you?”

“Already did,” Uriel shrugs, jostling the plastic bag in her hands.

“Good for you— I don’t want to know,” Aziraphale says quickly. “I worry about getting something Anthony wouldn’t like. He’s very particular.”

“You can always bring it back if he’s not interested,” Uriel points out. 

Aziraphale hums. “I just feel like I should ask him about it first.”

“How about this,” Uriel says. “Buy them. Ask him about them. If he responds positively, _then_ show them to him. If he’s not into it, he never has to know you had them. I’ll drive you back to return them.”

“Hn,” Aziraphale says, drawing the noise out.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

4:03 A.M.

* * *

“Anthony,” Anathema says, knocking lightly on the door.

“Don’t come in,” comes Crowley’s rushed response.

“I’m not going to,” Anathema tells him quickly. “Just letting you know it’s four.”

“Four what?”

“Four in the _morning,_ ” Anathema says, slightly exasperated. “If you’re feeling relaxed enough to sleep, yet, I would recommend getting to it, because we need to be on the road in a few hours.”

Crowley makes a long, agonized noise. “Wish I could just sleep here.”

“Ah, yes, the new wedding couture,” Anathema teases. “Showing up to the ceremony looking like a prune.”

“Funny,” Crowley says dryly. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”

“Couch is all made up for you,” Anathema tells him. “I’m going to bed. Make sure you turn all the lights off.”

“Will do.”

“Night.”

“Night… love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

5:11 A.M.

* * *

Aziraphale feels odd sleeping in bed without Crowley. He tosses and turns for half an hour before he finally takes on of his pillows and lays it sideways so he can pretend it’s his fiancé. It even smells like him, which is enough to soothe him to sleep.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

5:44 A.M. 

* * *

Crowley passes out as soon as he collapses onto the couch. He doesn’t even pull the duvet on top of himself, nor does he turn the kitchen light off. The last thing he thinks about is Aziraphale, which puts a smile on his face.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

9:25 A.M.

* * *

Aziraphale is the first to wake up, his face still buried in Crowley’s pillow. He smells Crowley’s shampoo and his cologne and he inhales, waking up the same way he fell asleep. He rolls over, pushing the pillow back up where it belongs and rolls out of bed, grabbing his robe and pulling it on. 

Uriel and Newt are both asleep in the living room when he emerges. He starts the coffee before going about waking them up.

“Uriel,” he says, shaking her shoulder gently. 

“Hmm?” she asks groggily, opening her eyes and blinking at the light. “What? What time is it?”

“About a quarter after nine,” Aziraphale tells her. “I’m making coffee.”

“Oh, dear,” Uriel says, sitting up quickly. “Oh— can I use your phone? I need to call Raphael.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says. “You know where it is.”

She springs up off the couch, exhibiting far too much energy first thing in the morning, in Aziraphale’s opinion. He doesn’t comment, though, just moves on to waking Newt up. He’s draped across the chair with his feet propped up on the coffee table. 

“Newt,” Aziraphale says, nudging him. “Get up. I’m making coffee.”

“Hn,” Newt says, squirming in place. “Hmm?”

“It’s time to wake up, dear,” Uriel says from the phone before turning her attention to it fully.

“What she said,” Aziraphale says. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Hn,” Newt says, putting his arm over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the light. “I don’t… not this early… my mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton.”

“My apologies,” Aziraphale says, padding back over to the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? I might have a ginger ale.”

Newt sits up rather suddenly. “Oh, do you really? I’d love a ginger ale.”

“Oh,” Uriel says worriedly, hanging the phone back up. “Raph isn’t answering… he’s probably still asleep. Which means the kids are still asleep… oh, dear, I might have to part ways with you for now. I need to go home and wake them up and get them ready.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time,” Aziraphale points out. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?”

“Oh, no,” Uriel says quickly. “Ariel can be quite fussy when I have to get her dressed, and I wanted her to wear a turtleneck, but I probably won’t have time to wrestle her into it, which means I’ll have to find something else for her to wear, which means I’ll have to find something different for _Daniel_ to wear…”

“Sounds like a real dilemma,” Newt says sleepily.

“Right,” Aziraphale says, watching Uriel gather her things. “Well. I hope to see you at he venue, then?”

“Oh, of course!” Uriel says brightly. “We’ll be timely. Nobody ever notices the rushing part but me!”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

10:12 A.M.

* * *

Crowley and Anathema leave London dressed casually. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they get out of the city.

“Feels weird,” he says numbly. “Driving myself to my own wedding in jeans. It’s like we’re just going to lunch.”

“We can stop somewhere to get food, if you want,” Anathema says calmly.

“Er, I’m getting married in three hours, so unless you want me to throw up at the alter…” Crowley says.

“You’re not gonna throw up,” Anathema assures him. “I promise. You’re gonna get up there and say your vows and exchange the rings and everything is gonna go smoothly and it’ll be over just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “And _then_ you can eat something without getting queasy.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says. “Debatable. What if I eat something now and later when we’re… in bed…”

“You’re _not_ gonna throw up in bed,” Anathema says, trying not to laugh. “And honestly? Even if you do? Change the sheets and keep going.”

“ _Anathema_ ,” Crowley hisses, looking at her incredulously. “Are you kidding? If I threw up while we were having sex, I don’t think I’d ever be able to speak to him again!”

“You say that like he wouldn’t want to speak to you again,” Anathema waves him off. “He’s so madly in love with you, I’m surprised he’s kept his hand off you this long, anyway.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says again. “That doesn’t mean _I_ would want him to look at me after I threw up on him in bed.”

“You’re not gonna throw up on him in bed,” Anathema assures him. “You always say you feel like you’re gonna throw up when you get nervous, but I’ve never actually seen you throw up.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do it, doesn’t mean I don’t do it,” Crowley counters. “I _have_ thrown up out of nerves. More than once. And I wouldn’t put it past myself to do it today.”

“Well, if you throw up, then I’ll make myself throw up, and we’ll look like idiots together,” Anathema assures him.

“… Thanks,” Crowley says flatly.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

11:32 A.M.

* * *

“Okay,” Newt says hurriedly, throwing his car into park. “I gotta go pee.”

“And change?” Aziraphale adds.

“Er— yeah,” Newt says quickly, pulling his seatbelt off and unlocking the door. “Pee then change. See you inside.”

He jumps out of the car, leaving Aziraphale alone. He gets out much slower, grabbing his suit from where it’s hanging in the back and carrying it inside. Anathema is just inside, changed into her dress and sitting outside the bathrooms.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” she says politely, smiling at him. “Anthony’s changing. We just got here.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. “Well, then, I suppose I should wait for him to leave before I go to change myself.”

“Right,” Anathema says. “Did you three have a good night? Where’s Uriel?”

“She had to go home to get everyone else ready,” Aziraphale says. “She should be here soon. But we had a very good time.”

Anathema hums. “Do anything fun? Besides drinking wine?”

“We went to a sex shop.”

Anathema chokes on her tongue. “You _what_?”

“Newt’s uncle owns a sex shop in Hounslow, and we went late last night for fun,” Aziraphale says stiffly. “Newt bought you something.”

Anathema stands up, smiling smugly. “Did _you_ buy anything?”

“I don’t think I should disclose,” Aziraphale says.

Anathema leans closer. “He already told me you two bought a strap-on. And I know he owns a vibrator, too.”

Aziraphale hesitates. “Handcuffs.”

She lights up, smacking him on the arm. “You did not!”

“Well, if you find that exciting, you’ll probably want to ask Newt what _he_ bought,” Aziraphale says. “And don’t tell Anthony.”

“I’ll keep it to myself,” Anathema says. “But I want a full report when you get back from Seaford. He needs the nerves shagged out of him, I’m telling you. He’s probably in the bathroom pacing right now. He was up all night fretting about everything and nothing. We spent half the drive here talking about what would happen if he threw up in bed.”

“Hm,” Aziraphale says, unsure of how to respond. 

The bathroom door opens, and Anathema slaps her hand over Aziraphale’s eyes, startling him. “Anthony!” she exclaims. “Shut your eyes!”

“What?!” Crowley says, surprised. “Why?!”

“Shut your eyes! You’re not supposed to look at your betrothed before you marry him!” Anathema insists.

“I thought that was just for women!” Crowley says.

“ _Shut your eyes_!” Anathema snaps.

Crowley huffs and shuts his eyes. “Angel?”

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley can’t stop himself from smiling. “I missed you last night.”

Aziraphale smiles, too. “I missed you, as well. I slept with your pillow because it smelled like you.”

Crowley blushes, grinning wider, reaching a hand out and taking a step forward.

“Hey,” Anathema says, holding her free hand out. “No looking.”

“I’m not looking,” Crowley snaps. “May I blindly kiss my fiancé, though?”

“His fiancé says he may,” Aziraphale answers before Anathema can.

It takes several moments of fumbling, but Crowley eventually manages to bestow one chaste kiss onto Aziraphale. Anathema is glad both their eyes are closed so neither of them can see how emotional the display of affection makes her.

“Okay,” she says, shooing them apart. “Enough of that. Anthony, go find somewhere to hide and stop hyperventilating.”

“I’m not hyperventilating,” Crowley says, uncovering his eyes and turning away before Anathema can reprimand him for it. He disappears around the corner, giddily taking one more look at Aziraphale before he goes.

“May I uncover my eyes now?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Anathema says, taking her hand off his face. “Go change. I’ve gotta go find some people.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

12:01 P.M.

* * *

“Adam?” Deirdre Young says, popping her head into his room. “Do you need help with your tie?”

“No,” Adam says, fiddling with it. “I’ve got it, mum, don’t worry.”

“Hm,” Deidre says, before disappearing back into the hallway. Adam continues messing with the tie for several more moment before his sister, Sarah, pokes her head in through the door.

“Hey,” she says flatly. “Need help with your tie?”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

12:13 P.M.

* * *

“Pippin!” Gwendolyn exclaims loudly as her daughter enters the room. “What did I tell you! The red dress! The _red_ dress!”

“I don’t want to match with Saoirse!” Pepper says stubbornly. “I look fine in this!”

“You cannot where white to a wedding!” Gwendolyn insists. “It’s disrespectful to the bride! You’ll upstage her!”

“There _is_ no bride, mum,” Pepper points out, as though she’s exhausted. 

Gwendolyn blinks. “Oh, that’s right,” she says. “My apologies, then. Well, I guess you can wear that dress, in that case. But why does it look so stuffy?”

“I don’t know!” Pepper says, dashing into the kitchen to avoid her mothers inspection of the outfit, which would reveal she put on her overalls underneath it.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

12:28 P.M.

* * *

“Brian!” Georg shouts when his son enters the house through the back door. “What the hell did you _do_?!”

Brian, who is currently covered in mud, makes a sheepish face. “I fell?”

“Why were you outside?!” Georg continues. “You’re absolutely filthy! Don’t you let your mother see you like that— were you riding your _bike_?”

“I went over to Wensley’s to get a tie,” Brian says, holding up said tie which also has mud on it.

Georg makes an exasperated sound, then grabs Brian by the arm and ushers him towards the bathroom. “Shower. _Quickly._ Your mother’s still getting ready, but we’ll be leaving any minute! It starts in half an hour!”

“Okay!” Brian says, jumping into the bathroom.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

12:33 P.M.

* * *

Wensleydale’s dads are both in excellent moods as they make their way to the church, which is within walking distance from their house. Wensleydale follows along behind them, halfway listening to their conversation, but mostly counting the different birds he sees on the way there.

“It’s a very nice day for a wedding,” James comments. He looks over his shoulder. “Don’t you think, Youngster?”

Wensleydale shrugs. “Sure. It’s not too humid or anything.”

James and Lawrence exchange a look, then Lawrence sighs happily. “I wish the weather had been like this on our wedding day.”

“Yes, it would have lightened the mood,” James agrees. “Instead it was pouring down rain.”

“Actually, it’s very good luck for it to rain on your wedding day,” Wensleydale says suddenly. “Because you’re tying the knot, and they say it’s impossible to untie a wet knot. But of course it’s not impossible, just quite difficult.”

They’ve arrived out front of the church as Wensleydale finishes this spiel of his. James sniffs and points ahead on the sidewalk. “Hey look! Pepper’s here.”

“Adam, too,” Lawrence adds. “Why don’t you go say hello?”

“Alright,” Wensleydale says, doing such. Once he’s gone, his fathers exchange another exasperated look.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

1:34 P.M.

* * *

Brian is the last of the Them to arrive. Their parents leave them in the front entrance and tell them not to move.

“We’ll be sitting down in just a minute,” Mrs. Young says. “Stay here for now, and _please_ don’t touch anything. The last thing Anthony needs today is any trouble.”

“I hear he’s already worse for wear,” Brian’s mum tells her as they walk off.

“Who’s Anthony?” Brian asks when she’s gone.

“She means Mr. Crowley,” Pepper says smartly. “His real name is Anthony.”

“Actually, Crowley is also his real name, it’s just his last name,” Wensleydale points out. 

“Only other adults get to call him Anthony,” Pepper adds.

“Hey, look,” Brian says, pointing. “There he is!”

The Them turn their heads to find that Crowley has emerged from a room none of them knew existed. He’s now pacing back and forth next to the stained glass at the end of the small hallway.

“He looks upset,” Wensleydale comments.

“He’s nervous,” Adam says knowingly.

“Should we say something?” Brian asks.

Pepper stands up straight. “Yes,” she says simply, before marching over to him. The rest of the Them follow her lead.

Crowley notices them and stops his pacing, or at least he tries to. The nervous fidgeting continues. “Oh,” he says. “Hi guys. Thanks for, er, coming.”

“Your suit is white,” Pepper says bluntly.

“Er, yeah,” Crowley says. “It is.”

“Huh,” Pepper says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upstage you.”

“What?” Crowley asks.

“You’re not supposed to wear white to a wedding because it upstages the bride,” Wensleydale supplies smartly. 

“Oh, no, you’re— you’re not upstaging me,” Crowley assures her.

“I’ll take it off after the ceremony, though,” Pepper says. “I’m wearing overalls underneath.”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Brian says glumly.

“Are you excited to get married, Mr. Crowley?” Wensleydale asks.

“Er, sure,” Crowley says. 

“Are you sure?” Wensleydale asks, at which Crowley chokes on his own spit. “Because you don’t seem very excited.”

“I am,” Crowley promises him. “I am. Quite excited, in fact. I’m just nervous, is all.”

“Why are you nervous?” Pepper asks.

“Er…” Crowley says awkwardly. “… adult stuff. Nothing you lot need to be worried about.”

“I heard when two people get married they have to do their taxes together,” Wensleydale adds. “Is that why you’re nervous?”

Crowley blinks at him. “… Yes.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

2:04 P.M.

* * *

There’s sweat creeping down the back of Crowley’s neck, just under his collar, but he’s trying not to think about that. He’s trying not to think about the twenty pairs of eyes watching him. He’s trying not to think about anything except holding Aziraphale’s hands in his and looking Aziraphale in the eye. It’s so hard to look Aziraphale in the eye. It’s so difficult to bear his soul. 

Part of him wants to turn away and hide his face. He’s not used to being so seen. It’s almost painful, but it’s also euphoric. And it’s hardly even started.

“Dearly beloved, we meet here today to witness a sacred ceremony: the union of Anthony and Aziraphale.” 

It’s only the first spoken sentence of the actual ceremony, and even so Crowley can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He’s sweating and crying at the altar. He wonders if Aziraphale can feel how slick his palms are.

He squeezes his hands. He squeezes back.

“With great reverence, we come together to celebrate the love and devotion shared by these two children of God that stand before us.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes are pale blue, almost grey, and Crowley is ready to drown himself in them. He can’t look anywhere but into them. If he’s forced to actually think about what he’s doing, he might be plagued with the excretion of a third bodily fluid, and he would rather not piss himself at his own wedding.

“We are especially blessed to be joined today by family and friends. The couple are honored you could be here to participate in this important occasion.”

Technically, there’s no family here today— at least, none by blood relation. Anathema and Newt count for Crowley, though, he’s pretty sure. And he hopes Rose is watching.

“As the Bible reminds us in Corinthians, ‘If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.’”

It is true that Crowley thinks the Bible is an unreliable resource. It’s full of contradictions and the agendas of men. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t certain verses that make him emotional. That’s why he has a tattoo from the book of Isaiah on his chest and that’s why there’s now a neat trail of tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Over the course of their relationship, Anthony and Aziraphale have developed a strong bond based on shared values and mutual respect.”

It’s such a simple sentiment, nothing that Crowley doesn’t already know about his relationship with Aziraphale, it’s just that they’ve never spoken it out loud before. They don’t really walk around the flat discussing the broad and specific aspects and intimacies of their relationship. It’s so obvious, but to hear them so explicitly stated makes Crowley want to weep.

“With a solid foundation from which to grow, they have made the decision to take the oath of marriage and spend the rest of their lives together.”

Crowley can’t believe at one time he considered himself the type of person who might never get married. The term he would have applied to himself then was realist— “I’m just being a realist,” he’d say. But the prospect of ending up alone forever was far from realistic. Crowley is a romantic, deep in his heart, and all he’s ever really wanted was somebody to spend the rest of his life with. 

“Let us revel in the joy and love on display here today. May we treasure these memories as Anthony and Aziraphale, under the eyes of God, get set to begin their new life together.”

Under the eyes of God. Rose used to tell Crowley that God was always watching, but Crowley always found that difficult to believe. He doesn’t consider himself a particularly interesting individual most of the time— nice to look at, yes, and he certainly has his charming moments, but why would God be interested in charming moments? Surely He had better things to be paying attention to while Crowley was just watering his plants or getting ready for bed. Crowley might be a little embarrassed if He was watching while he showered. 

But are they under the eyes of God now? Crowley wonders how many times in his life he’s done something significant enough to earn His attention. He hopes God at least tuned in for this, his union with the love of his life, if nothing else.

“If anyone has cause to object to the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Crowley doesn’t look away from Aziraphale’s eyes. If he makes eye contact with anyone else in the room besides him, he knows he’ll dissolve into the wind. 

The room stays silent.

“Marriage is a venerated institution, and one deserving of deep reverence. Today we observe the union of Anthony and Aziraphale in holy matrimony, a commitment they have chosen to undertake with all the sincerity that it warrants.”

Yes, Aziraphale is sincere. He’s never been this sincere in his entire life. Everything else about his life feels like something he was faking enthusiasm for in order to get to this point. He’d call this the climax of his life, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. He doesn’t peak here and fall back down; every moment hereafter will be an improvement upon the last, because it will be spent alongside Crowley.

“While marriage is a sacred and serious tradition, it is also cause for tremendous joy. Married life is full of surprises, adventures, and memory-making— all made possible by the enduring power of love.” 

There’s a lump burning a hole in Aziraphale’s throat, but that’s the price he pays for his attempts to keep himself from sobbing. There are tears beginning to streak down his face, anyway, and he can’t even wipe them away because if he lets go of Crowley’s hands, he might faint. He can only be thankful his nose isn’t running, as well.

“When Anthony and Aziraphale finalize this union, they will begin a new life of partnership, one defined by shared hopes, dreams, and successes.”

It’s enough to make Aziraphale tremble. He’s loved a handful of people in his life, but he’s never loved anybody the way he loves Crowley. He remembers reading about how lovers are meant to become one flesh and thinking it sounded insane— thinking he’d never be able to love somebody that way. Thinking he’d never be _allowed_ to love somebody that way. But Crowley is standing in front of him now, and all Aziraphale wants is the privilege to love him for the rest of his life.

“Anthony and Aziraphale, as you learn to live as one; you will encounter many challenges that can help you grow. Spend time doing the things that make life precious— cooperate with each other, always make time to laugh together, and never lose appreciation for the love that you share.”

Aziraphale can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t love the man standing across from him. He remembers his life before him— logically, he knows he didn’t always love him, but now that he does, he can’t escape how that love seeps into every crevice. Past, present, and future, Aziraphale loves Crowley ardently.

“Remember, too, to adhere to the vows that you will make today. Seek strength from each other, give hope to each other, and let your trials help you grow together. They say love can build bridges and climb mountains— and they're right. You will find that as it grows and matures over time, your love for one another will prove both fulfilling and empowering.”

Aziraphale can’t understand couples who grow to hate one another. He realizes one day everything will be familiar. He recognizes that the kissing and touching and giddiness doesn’t last forever. The honeymoon ends. They’ll argue and get upset and annoy each other. But if Aziraphale ever wakes to find he _hates_ Crowley, he’ll die. Crowley is his everything. Even now, it takes every last ounce of Aziraphale’s strength not to swoop in and lean forward and dry the tears on his sweethearts face. How is he supposed to resist breathing words of reassurance into him? How is he supposed to quell his desires for even one moment? 

“Yes, there will be challenges in life, but the strength of your bond will offer you protection against life's storms. Always make your relationship a priority, and continue to nurture each other. Through a commitment to love, and with the power of faith, together you will be able to navigate any obstacles that come your way.”

Crowley looks like his knees are about to buckle and he’s about to collapse onto the floor. Aziraphale is hoping he doesn’t, because if he does, he knows he’ll be horribly embarrassed about it, and he’ll croon about ruining their wedding forever. But Aziraphale also knows that when push comes to shove, he’ll catch Crowley and hold him until he can get back on his feet. There’s nothing Crowley could do that would really ruin today. If anything, if his knees gave out on him, Aziraphale would only be more endeared.

“Under the eyes of God, I solemnly bear witness to these matrimonial proceedings. I will now finalize the sacred covenant you shall both enter into on this day.”

Crowley almost wants to scream. He realizes rather suddenly that he’s getting married right this second, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. Part of him wants to drag Aziraphale away and kiss him endlessly away from prying eyes, but he knows that would be silly. He briefly entertains the idea of what would have happened if they had decided to elope. The thought of the face Anathema would have made makes him giggle. He tries to hold the noise back.

“The rite of marriage is an ancient institution, an important ritual that binds two people together for the rest of their days. Today, as you form this union, you're choosing to take a vow that is as sacred today as it was to your ancestors.”

Crowley hasn’t ever actually been to a wedding. He’s watched them in movies and on TV, but he’s never been to one himself. It feels odd to think that the first wedding he’s attending is his own.

“The Bible makes note of the power of partnership in Ecclesiastes. It reminds us that "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?"”

How can one keep warm alone? How did Crowley keep warm all those years? He supposes maybe he didn’t. He might’ve been cold the entire time, but now he doesn’t remember what it was like to be cold. All he knows is what it’s like to be warm in his lovers arms.

“Anthony and Aziraphale, I invite you to express your sacred vows to one another. Please face each other as you declare these vows before God and in the presence of your family and friends.”

_Shit_ , Crowley thinks. The vows are three sentences long, but he still wishes he’d written them down. He’s going to forget them. He’s already forgotten them. Shit. _Shit_.

“Anthony, you may start.”

Crowley swallows, staring down at Aziraphale. When he speaks, his voice is shaking. “I, Anthony, take you, Aziraphale, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

Aziraphale is smiling at him. Crowley lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. But he did it. 

“Aziraphale, now is the time for your promise.”

Aziraphale clears his throat. Even though Crowley knows exactly what he’s going to say, he still listens intently. “I, Aziraphale, take you, Anthony, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

Crowley could almost swoon. He wonders how he manages to keep himself from kissing Aziraphale right that second.

“Under the eyes of God, Anthony, do you take Aziraphale to be your lawfully wedded Husband? Do you promise to support him completely and love him unconditionally, so long as you both shall live?”

Crowley swallows nervously. Despite his anxiety, he finds himself smiling. “I do.”

“Under the eyes of God, Aziraphale, do you take Anthony to be your lawfully wedded Husband? Do you promise to support him completely and love him unconditionally, so long as you both shall live?”

Aziraphale is smiling back at him. “I do.”

“Very well. Let us proceed.”

It seems like such an understatement, in Aziraphale’s opinion, to say _very well_. He just devoted his love unconditionally to the man in front of him, and the next thing said is v _ery well_. It all seems so silly, so flippant— _very well_ , this is the biggest commitment he’s ever made in his life, and it’s all _very well_. 

“It is now time to exchange the rings. The circle formed by each ring is a symbol of your love and eternal commitment to each other. May these rings remind you always of these sacred promises you've made to each other today in the company of your family and friends.”

Aziraphale recalls Crowley’s botched proposal all those months ago, and somehow he’s smiling harder. He wonders if Crowley is going to drop the ring again. He’s not sure he’ll be able to keep himself from laughing if he does. 

“Anthony, you will go first. Please repeat after me as you place the ring on the hand of your loved one.”

Crowley takes the ring in his hand. He’s absolutely trembling. Aziraphale wishes he could take his hands in his and kiss him and tell him he has nothing to be scared of.

“I, Anthony… give you, Aziraphale… this ring… as a symbol of my love… commitment… and the eternal vows… we have made today… to each other… take this ring… as a sign… of my love and fidelity… in the name of the Father… and of the Son… and of the Holy Spirit… With this ring, I thee wed.”

The ring is a welcomed weight on Aziraphale’s fingers. The sight of it sends a fresh trail of tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Aziraphale, your turn.”

Much to Aziraphale’s chagrin, his hands are shaking, too.

“I, Aziraphale… give you, Anthony… this ring… as a symbol of my love… commitment… and the eternal vows… we have made today… to each other… take this ring… as a sign… of my love and fidelity… in the name of the Father… and of the Son… and of the Holy Spirit… With this ring, I thee wed.”

Crowley’s whole body is shaking with the effort not to start sobbing. He takes Aziraphale’s hands in his once again, because he can’t stand not being able to touch him.

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you, Anthony and Aziraphale, as Husband and Husband, wedded before God. You may now kiss.”

It’s the most satisfying kiss they’ve ever exchanged.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

3:06 P.M.

* * *

The reception isn’t really the traditional kind, nor is it terribly fancy. The Young's were sweet enough to host, which both Crowley and Aziraphale were thankful for. Crowley made the decision to cut a lot of usual practices out of the mix, very insistent that they didn’t need them. So there’s not to be a bouquet toss, and he wouldn’t even _consider_ anything that involved the word “garter” and he made the correct assumption that he would be far too frazzled to do anything as nerve-wracking as dancing after bearing his soul to a room full of people. 

He couldn’t talk Anathema out of introducing them as a married couple though, even though he tried. Which is how he ends up blushing horribly when he and Aziraphale arrive at Number Four Hogback Lane and Anathema has armed the Them, as well as Pepper and Adam’s sisters and Uriel’s children, with confetti poppers.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

4:15 P.M.

* * *

Sitting next to Aziraphale on the couch feels absolutely maddening, considering all Crowley wants to do is snog him until he can’t breathe. That would be a bit inappropriate, though, considering this isn’t his house nor is couch, and the room is full of people. Their legs are hooked at the ankles, at least, which is all he can hope for at the moment. 

He’s lost track of how many times he’s been told it was a beautiful ceremony. He just keeps nodding and saying thank you. But Deidre and Arthur are talking to him right now and those responses are no longer cutting it, so he cuts his thoughts of kissing his husband short.

“I remember when your parents got married,” Deidre says. “Did you know your mum used to babysit me?”

“Yeah, she used to tell me stories,” Crowley says, his lips quirking up into a smile. 

“She talked about John all the time,” Deidre continues, and the smile slips off Crowley’s face. “I was probably thirteen or fourteen when she married him. It was the first wedding I’d ever been to, and it was _lovely_. Did she ever talk to you about it?”

Crowley’s mouth feels somewhat dry. “She didn’t really like to talk about my dad.”

Deidre nods. “That’s understandable,” she says gently. “I just remember when Arthur and I got married, wishing my wedding could be like hers. It was the most wonderful ceremony. I wish they could have been here to be a part of yours.”

A memory swoops into Crowley’s brain. He recalls his father taking the kettle off the stove during a heated argument and throwing hot water on him. 

Aziraphale puts a hand on his knee.

“Yeah,” Crowley says quietly. “I, er… wish my mum could have come.”

Adam is staring at him.

Crowley clears his throat. “Did you like it, then, Adam?” he asks, assuming that’s why he’s staring. “Or are you still at the age where romance is gross?”

“It was fine,” Adam says stiffly, then walks away.

“He’s got a bit of a crush on your maid of honor,” Deidre tells Crowley.

“I figured as much,” Crowley says. “I’m sorry she covered your yard in confetti, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t be, she asked before she did it,” Arthur assures him. 

“We thought it was very cute,” Deidre adds. 

“It was very cute,” Aziraphale agrees, happy for the change in subject. “I’ve been especially enjoying how you still have some in your hair.”

“ _What_?” Crowley asks, blushing hard.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

5:11 P.M.

* * *

Crowley also tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent Anathema from giving a speech. Which is how he ends up blushing to the roots of his hair when she tells everyone the story about how they met, and _lies_ about him hitting her with his car when the true story is she hit _his_ _car_ with _her_ _bike_. 

He’s utterly incapacitated by her closing line, which is, “I was going to wrap this up with a dirty comment, but there are children here, so I’ll just say that Anthony is very much in need of what he will experience this evening.”

It gets quite a laugh, and Crowley puts his head in his hands, too embarrassed to even listen to Uriel’s speech. He still hasn’t stopped blushing by the time they cut the cake, but it does put a smile on his face when Aziraphale smears some of the frosting on his nose.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

6:03 P.M.

* * *

Deidre warned Crowley that the lock on the hallway bathroom was broken, but that doesn’t stop him from nearly jumping out of his skin when the door opens. It’s only Aziraphale, but it still leaves him startled, his hand resting over his heart.

“It’s just me,” Aziraphale says, shutting the door and leaning against it.

“I could have been peeing!” Crowley hisses, scandalized. 

“I’m seeing you naked tonight.”

“I’d rather you didn’t watch me pee first!”

Aziraphale sighs, taking Crowley’s hand in his and holding it against his chest. “Let’s run away.”

Crowley blinks at him. “What?”

“Let’s run away,” Aziraphale says again, smiling at him. “You’ve been embarrassed enough times today. I know you don’t like doing things in front of people. Everyone’s going to make a big deal about it when we leave, so I gave Adam five pound to go in the back yard and cause a distraction with his friends and while everyone is occupied with that we can leave. Quietly. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Crowley is staring at Aziraphale. “I love you.”

Aziraphale smiles wider. “Yes, I know.” He pulls him closer. “I love you, too.”

Crowley presses him against the door and kisses him. “No seriously, I love you,” he says between kisses. “I love you. What the fuck, I’m so happy I married you.”

They kiss for several more moments, before Crowley pulls away. “Oh, God— I don’t want Deidre to find us making out in her bathroom.”

There’s suddenly a very loud commotion coming from what sounds like the backyard. Aziraphale grins. “I think she might be a tad bit preoccupied.”

Crowley smiles at him. “Is that our cue?”

“I do believe it is.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

7:22 P.M.

* * *

Nobody notices them when they sneak out. Crowley is thankful they had the good sense not to tie a bunch of cans to the back of his car, because he would have been more annoyed than anything. The two of them are rather giggly as they make their escape, and Crowley honestly isn’t entirely convinced that Anathema didn't notice, but it doesn’t matter, because once they’ve driven off it’s not like she can call.

Crowley drives them outside of Tadfield, which doesn’t take long, and then keeps them on the road until they come to a stretch that seems mostly devoid of life. Then, much to Aziraphale’s confusion, he pulls his car over to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asks.

“Nothing,” Crowley says. He kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, then slides over and climbs into Aziraphale’s lap. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Aziraphale says, smiling at him. “May I ask again? What are you doing?”

“I can’t snog my husband in the middle of nowhere?” Crowley asks. “I’ve been dying to give you a proper kiss all day.”

“Have we not been having proper kisses?”

“I want your tongue down my throat.”

Aziraphale pulls him into a kiss very roughly. Crowley eagerly reciprocates. They spend several moments kissing before Crowley breaks it. “Do you have a boner?” he asks, amused.

Aziraphale blushes. “You’re sitting in my lap and kissing me. I wasn’t really consulted on the decision.”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley says, like he doesn’t believe him, and then he leans in close to kiss his neck. Aziraphale makes a breathy little noise that makes him want to melt into his arms.

“Are you really gunning for us to have sex right here and now?” Aziraphale asks. “Because it… ah… feels like that’s where this is going…”

“No,” Crowley says, leaving a kiss under his ear. “I mean— not right this second, no.”

Aziraphale pushes him back to look at him. “Not right this second?”

“I mean,” Crowley says, blushing. “I definitely don’t want to lose my virginity in here, but like…”

“But like _what_?” Aziraphale asks, laughing.

“Don’t tease!” Crowley says, covering his mouth. “It’s just a fantasy. I’m sure _you_ have plenty.”

“I’m not saying I don’t,” Aziraphale says, pulling his hand off his mouth. “It’s just— well—! Oh, no, I shouldn’t say.”

“What?” Crowley asks, intrigued.

“No, I really shouldn’t say,” Aziraphale says, blushing.

“Well now you _have_ to tell me,” Crowley insists.

“It’s…” Aziraphale hesitates. “It’s something your mum told me, Anthony.”

“What?” Crowley asks eagerly.

“It’s going to kill the mood.”

“ _Tell meee_.

“It… I mean, this used to be your dads car, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, your mum… we were having coffee one morning on the front porch while you were still asleep… and it came up… the car, I mean, and she maybe… sort of… implied that you were conceived in here?”

Any semblance of amusement immediately drops off Crowley’s face. He practically gags, climbing out of Aziraphale’s lap as fast as he can. “I’m selling it.”

“Anthony!” Aziraphale says. “You love this car!”

“Not anymore I don’t!” Crowley exclaims. A horrified expression crosses his face. “Front or backseat?!”

“I don’t know!”

Crowley drops his head against the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you told me that. I can’t believe _she_ told _you_ that.”

“Anthony…”

“I’m getting a lobotomy.”

“Maybe we should go.”

“Maybe we should just walk to Seaford.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

8:36 P.M.

* * *

Aziraphale gets put on map duty, but he becomes rather confused about halfway through the drive. “Are you taking the long way?”

Crowley hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asks. “I think it would’ve been faster if you’d taken the M40. The route you’re on now is going to take us through Portsmouth and Brighton.”

“It’s the scenic route.”

“Anthony, that nearly doubles the drive time.”

Crowley chews on his lip nervously. “It’s the scenic route.”

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

9:43 P.M.

* * *

Aziraphale has to admit, the ocean does look very pretty at night, but it doesn’t distract him from the fact that Crowley has returned to practically vibrating with anxiety. He has trouble figuring out if putting a hand on his knee makes it better or worse, so he just keeps his hands to himself and watches Crowley’s fingers tap on the steering wheel.

It won’t be long.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

10:32 P.M.

* * *

It’s difficult to navigate in the dark, especially since Crowley’s car doesn’t provide much in terms of lighting, which makes it hard to read the map. They eventually find the cottage, though, as tucked away as it is. It’s probably better that it’s slightly hidden, anyhow; they don’t want anybody interrupting them.

Crowley kills the engine, and they spend a few moments sitting in silence. 

Aziraphale takes a breath. “Well,” he says, catching Crowley’s attention. “I suppose we should go inside.”

“Right,” Crowley says, offering him a smile that clearly implies how tied into knots his stomach is.

“Anthony,” Aziraphale says quietly, reaching over and taking his hand in his. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Crowley assures him. “Great, really. I’m just, ah… a touch nervous. Now that I’m thinking about it again.”

Aziraphale smiles gently. “How about we go inside and have a peak around before we do anything else?”

The magnitude of what anything else means hangs in the air between them. They decide to ignore it for now. 

“Er— hang on,” Crowley says once they get onto the porch and Aziraphale is fishing in his pockets for the key. “I…”

“Yes, darling?” Aziraphale asks, looking at him attentively.

The slightest blush is coloring Crowley’s cheeks. “I wanna carry you over the threshold.”

Aziraphale hesitates, then he laughs. “Anthony, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly,” Crowley says. “I wanna carry you over the threshold.”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale says, looking at him seriously. “You can’t. I’m far too heavy for you to pick up.”

“Are not,” Crowley says with a frown. “I can absolutely pick you up.”

“Why don’t _I_ carry _you_ over the threshold?” Aziraphale suggests.

“Because _I_ wanna carry _you_ ,” Crowley insists.

Aziraphale purses his lips. “And how exactly are you planning on doing that?”

Crowley swallows. “Look— I know I’m not _that_ strong, but I help you reshelf and I don’t think you realize just how many books you hand me when you’re walking around. And I move shit around the nursery that weighs even more.”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a stack of books, or a potted plant,” Aziraphale says flatly.

“You’re right, you’re not,” Crowley says stubbornly. “You’re my husband and I’d like to carry you over the threshold, please.”

Aziraphale lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re going to mess your knees up. Or blow your back out. On the first night of our honeymoon.”

“Well, if all goes according to plan, you’ll be blowing my back out eventually,” Crowley says. It’s an attempt at a joke, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem amused. 

“I’m serious, Anthony,” Aziraphale says. “You’re just going to hurt yourself and I’m going to get embarrassed and feel bad. Just let me carry you over. I can pick you up bridal style.”

“I don’t want you to pick me up bridal style, I’m not a bride,” Crowley says. “I’m also being serious.”

“Anthony…”

“Just give me the key, please,” Crowley says, holding his hand out.

Aziraphale hesitates stubbornly for a moment, then takes the keys out of his pocket and hands them over to Crowley. He unlocks the door then turns back around, looking at Aziraphale expectantly. “Come here.”

Aziraphale takes a step forward. Crowley pockets the keys, then shuffles forward slightly and bends down, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale just beneath his arse.

“Anthony—!”

“Put your arms around my neck.”

“Anthony—!”

“Arms! Around! My neck!”

Aziraphale complies, and Crowley lifts him up about a foot off the ground. He pivots, twirling him around before setting him down on the other side of the threshold and then kissing him on the cheek. “Was that so terrible?”

“You’re a prat,” Aziraphale says, a light blush tinting his cheeks. 

Crowley slides his hands up, tucking them into the back pockets of Aziraphale’s slacks. “Have I ever told you I love your arse?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “More than once.”

“Well, I love your arse,” Crowley says, grinning wickedly and pressing more kisses to the side of Aziraphale’s face.

“And I love yours,” Aziraphale says, unable to help a small, fond smile.

“Oh, hardly,” Crowley teases. “I don’t even have one.”

“That’s odd. Then what’s the thing I pinch that always makes you squeal?”

He demonstrates, and Crowley jumps slightly, squirming in his arms. “Tease.”

“You’re the tease, in a suit like that,” Aziraphale counters, and then kisses him.

Crowley hums, pulling him closer and kissing him back fervently. They stay like that for a moment before Aziraphale pulls away. “Ah— perhaps we should, er, close the door.”

Crowley kicks the door shut in the same instance he drags Aziraphale into another kiss.

* * *

Sunday, March 20, 1993

11:14 P.M.

* * *

Crowley is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Aziraphale sits down next to him. He doesn’t look up.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asks; he reaches over and places a hand on his knee. Crowley looks like he wants to recoil and lean into the touch at the same time.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks quietly.

“Of course.”

Crowley swallows. “I’m… horny,” he says, blushing hard as he does. “It sounds so stupid saying it out loud. But I’m seriously so horny I think if I don’t have sex with you right now I’m gonna die. But I’m also… terrified of having sex with you.”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale says gently. “Why on Earth are you _terrified_?”

“I don’t know!” Crowley laughs nervously. “I have literally no reason to be! Not one! I know you’d never hurt me or make fun of me for being inexperienced or for the way I look. There’s literally nothing for me to be afraid of and I’m still so scared I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t throw up,” Aziraphale says quickly. “Anthony… sex is a very scary thing, I think. Especially considering we were raised Catholic. We were taught to be afraid of it more than we were taught what it was.”

That gets a laugh out of Crowley, which makes Aziraphale smile. “I promise I’m just as nervous as you are… well, maybe not _just_ as, but I’m still quite nervous. But I am also, er, how did you put it… so horny I think I might die if we don’t have sex.”

Crowley laughs again. Aziraphale smiles wider. 

“How about this,” he says, shifting so he can face him better. “Let’s just kiss, okay? We know we know how to do that. We did it earlier just fine.”

“Right,” Crowley says tightly. “Sure. Kissing. Yeah.”

They kiss once; twice; three times chastely. Crowley leans away again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale says, pulling him in for a fourth kiss.

The fifth lasts longer than the fourth, and the sixth longer than the fifth. During the seventh kiss is when the tongues get involved, which prompts Crowley to twist and scoot even closer to Aziraphale for a better angle. They stay like that for a long time.

Aziraphale slips his hand underneath Crowley’s jacket, resting it on the small of his back. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yeah,” Crowley says immediately. He slides his hands under Aziraphale’s jacket, settling them on his waist. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Maybe we should, er… take the jackets off?”

“Oh.”

“Just the jackets for now.”

“Right, yeah,” Crowley agrees. “It is getting a bit hot.”

Aziraphale laughs. They separate for a single moment to shed their jackets before getting right back into the position they were in before. They continue kissing.

Crowley is the one who breaks this kiss this time. “It’s… really hot.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Can I take off your tie?”

Crowley swallows. “Can I take off yours?”

They spend a moment undoing each others ties.

“I have an idea,” Aziraphale says gently. “How about we undo one button each and then kiss until we want to undo the next one?”

“Okay,” Crowley says quietly. “Okay…” 

Aziraphale undoes the top button on Crowley’s shirt; Crowley does the same for him. They spend a moment kissing until Crowley pulls away.

“I’m starting to get impatient and it’s freaking me out,” he laughs nervously. Aziraphale grins, undoes another one of his buttons, and kisses him hard. Crowley moans into his mouth, leaning closer and grabbing at the fabric of his shirt to keep himself from feeling like he’s going to float away. They kiss intermittently for what feels like ages, slowly unbuttoning each others shirts until they’re completely open and untucked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever directly told you this,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, his eyes raking over Crowley’s bare torso, “but you’re so incredibly hot.”

Crowley blushes. “So are you.”

They kiss again. Crowley breaks it very suddenly, averting his gaze. “Can I ask for something?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale assures him. “Anything you want.”

Crowley takes a deep breath. “I know we both got tested a couple weeks ago and we’re both clean. And I can’t get pregnant because I, er, had that function… removed. But… er… I was… wondering… if you would—”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale says softly, reaching up to cup his face. “If you want me to wear a condom to make you less nervous, I can do that.”

“Ah,” Crowley says, looking up at the ceiling. “Er— well— thank you, but— er… I was actually gonna ask for the opposite?”

He swallows nervously and looks back at Aziraphale. “Er… could you… I mean, when we… ngk— _Iwantyoutocomeinsideofme._ ”

Aziraphale blinks. Then he says: “I’m going to push you down on the bed and kiss you, now. Is that okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Crowley says immediately, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down on top of him. They don’t land in a very good position, so they have to shift and squirm until Aziraphale is sitting between Crowley’s legs comfortably. He kisses him hard and Crowley moans, unable to stop himself as he jerks his hips up. 

Aziraphale groans into his mouth, grinding down against him, and for a moment Crowley thinks he’s going to pass out. The friction is delicious; it’s more than they‘ve ever experienced together, and Crowley is certain if they stayed exactly like that for just another minute or so it’d be enough to get him off, but they’re only getting started. He pushes Aziraphale back by his shoulders.

“Er,” he says, quite breathless. “Maybe we can… finish undressing and… get under the covers and… er…”

Aziraphale gives him another chaste kiss. “Make love?”

Crowley offers him a shaky smile. “Yeah…”

He jerks back, suddenly, scooting further towards the middle of the bed and tossing the decorative throw pillows off rather eagerly. Aziraphale bites back his giggle, standing up so he can pull the duvet back. Crowley rolls off the bed on the other side, landing on his feet and doing the same on his side. They both stop at the exact same time.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says after a moment.

“… The bed’s not made,” Crowley comments.

They look at each other.

“Well, I’m not going to have sex right on the mattress,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley huffs, frustrated. “Well, then, where are the sheets?”

“I don’t know! Check in the closet.”

Crowley makes a face, turning around on his heel and walking briskly over to the closet. He opens it, spots a pile of sheets on the shelf at the top, and reaches up to grab them. Aziraphale pulls the duvet off the bed as Crowley carries them back over.

“Here,” Crowley says, shoving the fitted sheet towards him, before shoving the pillows off the bed. Aziraphale spreads out the fitted sheet and hands two of the corners to Crowley. They tuck two of them to the corner of the mattress before realizing they have it on the wrong way.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Crowley growls, yanking it back off and turning it around. They get it on properly, albeit the job is rather rushed, and then Crowley throws the pillows back onto the bed. Aziraphale does the same with the sheet, then the duvet.

Crowley makes a face. “Why’d you pull them all the way up? We’re just… we’re just gonna push it back down in a second…”

He shoves the duvet back aggressively so he’s sitting only on the sheets. Aziraphale sits back down on the edge of the bed, attempting to be soothing. “Where were we?”

“Ngk,” Crowley says quietly.

“I believe we were in the middle of undressing,” Aziraphale reminds him, leaning over and laying a hand on Crowley’s thigh, before slowly trailing it up towards the button of his slacks. “May I?”

Crowley swallows, his eyes on Aziraphale’s hand. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale shifts on the bed again before undoing the button and the zipper. “Lift your hips up,” he tells him, and then he loops his fingers in Crowley’s belt buckles and pulls. It doesn’t go very smoothly, Crowley having to kick them off once they bunch up around his ankles. 

Aziraphale discards them a bit impatiently. Crowley clears his throat. “Okay. Your turn.”

Aziraphale huffs, a small smile on his lips. “Right.”

He stands up off the bed so he won’t have to struggle with it, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks before stepping out of them and sitting back down on the bed. Crowley swallows again, crawling closer and laying a tentative hand on his thigh. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly, his eyes a bit wide as he tries not to stare. Aziraphale is half hard in his briefs. 

He reaches out and gently takes Crowley’s hand in his, guiding him to palm him through the fabric. Aziraphale moans quietly as soon as Crowley touches him, gentle as it is, but Crowley is immediately intoxicated by the noise and wants to hear more. He keeps the touches light, unsure about what does and doesn’t feel good, leaning in to kiss at Aziraphale’s neck. He makes a half-hearted attempt at giving him a hickey, but then Aziraphale is taking him by the wrist and pushing him back onto the bed with intent.

He lets go of his wrist and picks at the fabric of Crowley’s open shirt. “Let's get this off.”

Crowley sits back up slightly so he can pull it off; he tosses it off the edge of the bed without taking his eyes off Aziraphale. “Your turn.”

“Our clothes are going to be very wrinkly,” Aziraphale points out, shrugging his own shirt off and disposing of it in the exact same manner.

“Angel, we’re never gonna wear them again,” Crowley says with a slight smile.

There’s a lapse of silence. 

“There’s only one more thing to take off,” Aziraphale whispers. “Do you want to wait a little longer?”

Crowley swallows nervously. Then he screws his eyes shut, lifts his hips and pulls his briefs down. He tosses them off the bed without opening his eyes. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale doesn’t respond. Crowley cracks an eye open to find him looking at him hungrily, his eyes raking over his body.

Crowley manages to blush even harder. “Hey. Come on. Not fair. Your turn.”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale says, snapping out of it. “I’m sorry, my darling.”

Crowley’s snippy response fizzles and dies on the tip of his tongue as Aziraphale takes his briefs off. He wouldn’t be surprised if it came out of his mouth as drool instead. 

“It’s big,” he says, before he can stop himself. “You didn’t tell me it was big.”

Aziraphale blushes hard. “It’s not…” he says quietly. “It’s— well, to be frank, I haven’t seen very many, er… well, I don’t have a very good point of reference, but surely it’s… it’s just average. It’s really not very long…”

“I’m not talking about the length,” Crowley says, and he doesn’t want to stare because that’s rude, but he just can’t help himself. “It’s _thick_.”

“Oh…”

“It’s way thicker than my vibrator.”

“Okay, I get it,” Aziraphale says quickly. “Can we just— get on with it?”

Crowley swallows. “Yeah,” he says, scooting back a bit. “Let’s… er…”

“You’re horribly attractive, I hope you know,” Aziraphale says suddenly.

Crowley looks away, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, I know…”

Aziraphale smiles. “I have to admit, I… imagined you naked a fair amount of times, but any fantasy I could have conjured up doesn’t compare to the real thing in the slightest. You’re lovely.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says. “You can touch as well as look, you know.”

Aziraphale reaches forward and fondles him. Crowley lets out a surprised, breathless moan. “Holy fuck,” he pants. “It feels so fucking weird when it’s somebody else…”

“It does,” Aziraphale agrees.

“It feels so fucking good…” Crowley moans.

Aziraphale takes his hand away so he can grab Crowley’s hips, and he whines in protest. Aziraphale licks his lips. “Anthony, can I use my mouth on you?”

Crowley drops his head back onto the pillows. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Aziraphale offers him a nervous smile. Crowley nods eagerly, spreading his legs further apart. Aziraphale settles between them, resting his hands on Crowley’s thighs before sliding them up to hold his hips. 

Crowley bites his lip, resolving to at least attempt to keep himself quiet. He immediately fails when Aziraphale starts. “ _Jesus fucking Christ—!_ ”

“You’re blaspheming an awful lot,” Aziraphale comments. The only response Crowley gives is to grab him by the hair and shove him back between his legs.

Aziraphale clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he gets the hang of it quite fast. It’s not difficult to tell what makes Crowley feel good on account of how loud he is. He practically screams as Aziraphale drags him through his orgasm.

He’s trembling like a leaf as he comes down from it. Aziraphale can’t help but feel concerned. “Are you alright?”

Crowley swallows thickly. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says sheepishly.

“I’m not exaggerating,” Crowley insists, his voice shaking. “I thought— I thought the orgasm I got when I put new batteries in my vibrator was the best it was gonna get. But that was _the best_ orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“Gosh,” Aziraphale says. “Well, er… thank you?”

“Jesus,” Crowley says breathlessly. “Remind me to tell Anathema she was right. For once.”

“About what?” 

“About orgasms with another person being better than the ones you get when you masturbate.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Crowley looks back down at Aziraphale, who’s still laying between his legs looking up at him. Crowley blushes and clears his throat. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” he asks; he grabs at Aziraphale’s shoulders and tries to pull him up. It takes some awkward wiggling, but eventually he’s hovering over Crowley.

“We should remedy that,” Crowley adds, before pulling him into a kiss. It’s messy; their teeth clack together and they wince, but it takes very minor readjusting to make sure it doesn’t happen again. The kiss doesn’t last too long before they both pull away at nearly the same time.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Hi,” Crowley says quietly.

Aziraphale grins. “Hi.”

“We’re naked in bed together,” Crowley says. “Isn’t that kind of fucked up?”

Aziraphale grins wider. “How is that fucked up?”

“Ooh, I got you to say fuck,” Crowley teases.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. Then he gets a very mischievous look about him. “Want me to say it again?”

Crowley is grinning now, too. “Yes, please.”

Aziraphale kisses Crowley once, short and sweet. “Can I fuck you?”

The grin gets wiped off Crowley’s face as he blushes hard enough to render him speechless. “Ah— er… y— yeah…”

Aziraphale smiles smugly. “You’re very flirty, my darling, but it seems to me you’re all talk.”

“Am not,” Crowley insists. “I’d flip us over right now if I didn’t think riding you would destroy my knees.”

“Ah, yes, your terrible, terrible knees,” Aziraphale chuckles. “I almost forgot. Well, I’ll be sure to go easy on them.”

“The knees don’t— the knees don’t have anything to do with sex…” Crowley says, though he sounds very unsure of himself. 

Aziraphale kisses him to get him to shut up. It’s very effective. He’s the one who breaks the kiss, though. “I, ah… I’m having trouble figuring out how to… segue from the banter into the… er… sex.”

“Well, that was a marvelous technique,” Crowley says sarcastically. “Why don’t you narrate everything like that for the rest of the night?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale says. “Well. I’m, er, going to put my penis in you now.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Crowley winces, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. “Don’t say that. That’s horribly unsexy, you should just— _hah…!_ ”

He gasps, his eyes flying open as Aziraphale slips the tip in. “Oh, my God…”

“The blasphemy continues,” Aziraphale says; it’s an attempt at teasing, but his voice is too breathy to make it anything near convincing.

“You know I don’t believe in blasphemy,” Crowley snaps. “At least not in the traditional sense— _Jesus fucking Christ I don’t want to have a conversation about this right now your dick is literally inside of me._ ”

The fitted sheet to the left of Crowley’s head snaps off the mattress. He stares directly up at the ceiling. “Did the fitted sheet just come off?”

Aziraphale is nearly shaking in his effort not to start laughing. “Yes.”

“I swear to _fuck_ ,” Crowley hisses, twisting his arm up and grabbing at it, attempting to shove it back onto the mattress. Aziraphale grabs his hand and brings it up to his mouth, placing a kiss on his wrist.

“Just leave it for now, sweetheart,” he insists. “We can get it in a minute.”

Crowley shuts his eyes. “Aziraphale,” he says in a quiet voice, a blush creeping all the way down his neck. “Please— _please_ make love to me…”

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale says reverently. “Yes, darling— yes, _yes_ …”

He lets go off Crowley’s wrist and grabs him by the hips instead, sinking all the way into him. Crowley lets out a loud whine.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he says. He looks Aziraphale dead in the eye. “You’re the _only_ person on Earth who ever gets to hear me making these noises.”

Aziraphale doesn’t respond, just pulls out slightly and rocks back in again. Crowley manages to make an even more embarrassing noise. It takes Aziraphale a moment to establish any sort of rhythm, but once he figures one out that works for both of them, he focuses all his energy into keeping it.

Crowley bites down on his lip for all of ten seconds in an attempt to stay quiet, before he completely gives up. It takes a bit of effort, but he hooks his legs around Aziraphale so they have a better angle to work with, and then he lets every embarrassing noise fall from his lips.

“Oh, _God_ , Anthony,” Aziraphale groans. “You feel so _fucking_ good…”

Crowley can’t help but smile. “Now who’s blaspheming?” 

“Shut up,” Aziraphale pants out with a smile. “ _Fuck_ …”

“Ooh, you keep saying a bad word,” Crowley teases. “I’m gonna tell the priest.”

Aziraphale loses his rhythm because they’re both laughing. 

Crowley swallows; he’s blushing all the way down to his chest. “It is kinda hot when you say it though…”

“Oh yeah?” Aziraphale grins. “Would you like it if I told you how good it feels to fuck you?”

Crowley’s head falls back against the pillows. “Good _Lord_ ,” he moans.

“It feels so good,” Aziraphale tells him. “ _You_ feel so good. You’re so fucking hot, Anthony. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long.”

“ _Ah_ —!” Crowley gasps, rocking against him in time with his thrusts. “ _Fuck_ — _holy_ _fuck_ —”

“ _Fuck_ …” Aziraphale echoes. “Oh, _Anthony_ …”

“Can you tell me I’m hot again?” Crowley asks quietly. “Please? It— it— oh, _God_ , it makes me feel so…”

“You _are_ hot,” Aziraphale pants, and Crowley throws his head back and moans. Aziraphale takes note as best he can. “You really like that? Like it when I tell you how good you are?”

“Yeah,” Crowley groans. “ _Yeah_ …”

“I love you,” Aziraphale says suddenly. “I love you so much, Anthony— and you feel so— _so_ good…”

“I—” Crowley gasps, clinging to him frantically. “I— love you— too— I’m— I— I— I’m gonna— _oh_ —”

He shudders and moans and rocks against him in time with his thrusts, and Aziraphale can’t help himself; he follows him over the edge, gasping his name as he fucks him through his orgasm.

Afterwards, they stay intertwined for a moment, unwilling to part just yet. Crowley presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. “Do you think this is what they mean when they talk about lovers becoming one flesh?”

Aziraphale smiles. “I believe it must be.”

They separate; when Aziraphale pulls out it results in a horrible squelching sound that makes both of them cringe. 

“What a lovely way to end the evening,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley hums. “Gotta pee.”

He slides out of bed immediately, presumably to do so, startling Aziraphale. “Did— you have to pee the whole time?” he asks, surprised by his urgency. “You could have gone before.”

“Oh, I don’t really _need_ to pee,” Crowley tells him. “But peeing after you have sex prevents UTIs. Or so I’ve read.”

Aziraphale blinks at him.

Crowley blushes. “And besides, you kind of…” he trails off, squirming in place a little, “… inside of me… so I should… take care of that…”

“Okay,” Aziraphale says. “I’ll, er, be here.”

While Crowley cleans himself up, Aziraphale tucks the fitted sheet back onto the mattress. This time he’s much more thorough about it. 

“You know,” Crowley says as he comes out of the bathroom, “I’m kind of starting to understand things from the serpents point of view.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Beg your pardon?”

“You know, the serpent in the garden,” Crowley says as he walks back over to the bed. “I kind of don’t mind that he tempted Eve, considering if he hadn’t nobody would know how to fuck.”

“I think you’re digging into a very complicated subject, morally speaking” Aziraphale says.

“Fair,” Crowley says, crawling into bed. “We can talk about it in the morning. But I also think we should have sex again in the morning.”

“Hm,” Aziraphale says, pretending to think about it. “I agree.”

Crowley grins. “Good. We can do it again tomorrow night, as well, if you like.”

“I would like.”

“And on our last night I can ride you because I know it’s gonna fuck up my knees. And I’ll probably try giving you a blowjob tomorrow around mid afternoon.”

“Shall I draw up a schedule?”

They both laugh at that. Crowley sinks under the covers and cuddles up next to Aziraphale. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Aziraphale returns, wrapping his arms around him. “I hope you’re not still nervous enough to throw up?”

“If you give me a minute, I’m sure I can work my way back up there,” Crowley assures him.

Aziraphale reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. Crowley shuts his eyes at the sensation. Aziraphale smiles. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much,” Crowley mutters. He’s quiet for a moment, then he opens his eyes. “… Angel?”

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale asks sleepily.

“Ngk,” Crowley says. “I’m just— sort of marveling at your ability to get me aroused while I’m in the midst of a panic attack.”

That gets Aziraphale to laugh. “Well, excessive kissing has never failed before.”

Crowley frowns. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I know we both get horny when we make out for too long,” Aziraphale says lazily. 

Crowley blushes; Aziraphale notices and grins, tilting his head up. He runs his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Hardly so, now that we can actually do something about it.”

Crowley lights up. “You know what else this’ll remedy? The fact that you keep waking up with a boner.”

Aziraphale lets his head drop back against the pillow. He doesn’t comment.

Crowley burrows further into his side, wrapping his arms around him. “It’d be real convenient if you woke up with one tomorrow.”

“You know I don’t get to _decide_ when that happens, right?” 

“Just have a sexy dream about me,” Crowley says simply. “Can’t be that hard now that you’ve seen me naked.”

“I’ve been having dreams about you long before I saw you naked,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley swallows. “Yeah?”

“Ever since you deep-throated that popsicle in Worthing the summer before we got together,” Aziraphale adds.

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “You remember that?”

“I remember it _incredibly_ well.”

Crowley grins smugly. “Well. Maybe tomorrow I’ll deep-throat something that isn’t a popsicle.”

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “Such as?”

Crowley sinks down, hiding his face behind Aziraphale’s shoulder. “It’s a surprise.”

Aziraphale chuckles. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. He hums, shutting his eyes and leaning into the touch. 

“Hm,” Aziraphale says, closing his own eyes. “Anathema said you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Crowley mutters. “Too busy freaking out about marrying the hottest guy I know.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Get some sleep, Anthony.”

Crowley makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “You first…”

There’s a lapse of silence, before Aziraphale says. “Oh, Anthony?”

“Hm?” Crowley hums, already half asleep.

“I, er… bought handcuffs,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley makes an amused noise. “What are you? A cop?”

“They’re to tie you to the headboard,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley goes very still. “… But only if you want.”

Crowley swallows nervously. “… I do want.”

Aziraphale leans his head back against the pillow, shutting his eyes. “Good to know.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls dont leave comments asking about the specifics of crowleys genitals thx
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, though!! writing this made me so emotional. reading about catholic wedding ceremonies and traditional vows made my little catholic heart explode. i cried more than once. im just so soft. they're in love ;-; you can find me on [tumblr](https://paintedvanilla.tumblr.com/) :0)


End file.
